


A Prayer For the Fallen

by danceswithhamsters01



Series: Reddit Prompts [78]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Crushes, Dragon Age II Quest - Demands of the Qun, Duelling, F/M, Love Interest POV, Murder, POV First Person, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-10
Updated: 2019-11-10
Packaged: 2021-01-27 03:22:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21385267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/danceswithhamsters01/pseuds/danceswithhamsters01
Summary: Based on a prompt from r/dragonage.Prompt 5: The Arishok Fight.Sebastian Vael has found himself thinking and feeling things he should not about the apostate mage Essendra Hawke. Brother Vael is in the party on that fateful night things boil over with the Arishok.
Relationships: Female Hawke/Sebastian Vael
Series: Reddit Prompts [78]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1153856
Kudos: 2





	A Prayer For the Fallen

“You are BLIND. I will MAKE you see!” The man’s words echoed as Essendra pushed the doors open, making them slam against the wall. Aveline, Fenris, and I followed her through.

A sea of Kirkwall’s nobility stood with their backs to us; their attention was understandably fixated on the massive figure addressing them from in front of the viscount’s throne. His massive horns curved back and upward, clearly marking him as one of the Qunari. He did not cover his face with their strange paints like the others of his kind, which meant that he had to be the Arishok, their leader. A round metallic thing came to a stop by my boot, clattering against the stone. Peering at it, I soon recognized it as the Viscount’s crown.

Something pale at the foot of the stairs caught my attention. It took every last bit of my nerves to not say something or vomit. Poor Viscount Dumar had been decapitated. Several feet away, I noticed a man laying unmoving on the ground. His head was bent at an unnatural angle. Poor blighter. I recognized him as one of the De Launcets, a younger son of the Comte’s brother. Two more souls I would need to pray for. Later. If we got out of this alive.

But first, if I knew Hawke as well as I thought I did, would come justice. Or at least something that could be considered kinfolk to it. The anger in my belly fueled the stomping steps I took to Essendra’s side. Many innocents had died this day, people whose only crime had been living in Kirkwall while he and his men were here. People whose deaths would have to be answered for.

“But we have guests.” The Arishock descended the stairs. “Shanedan, Hawke. I expected you. Maraas toh ebra-shok. You alone are basalit-an.”

Essendra stood her ground, golden gaze glowering at the man who was easily a minimum of two feet taller (horns not included), and many stones heavier, than her. She folded her arms beneath her breasts. She hadn’t bothered to re-glamour her staff after our encounter with Knight-Commander Meredith earlier in the evening. Her brass staff with a carving of Andraste at its top was plain for all to see. A mage’s staff. A healer’s staff, but far too few knew enough to recognize it as such. I’d come to be educated on the subject in recent months, usually during conversations had after Wicked Grace nights while she “walked me home” to the Chantry.

The Arishok glared out at the gathered nobility and gestured toward her. “This is what respect looks like, bas! Some of you will never earn it!” He returned his focus to Essendra and continued. “So tell me, Hawke: You know that I am denied Par Vollen until the Tome of Koslun is found. How would you see this conflict resolved without it?”

Any reply she may have been working was interrupted by the sounds of the doors being slammed open again and the startled “OOF!” of a qunari hitting the floor a heartbeat before he became unconscious.

“I believe I can answer that,” Isabela called out as she walked into the room, stepping on the fallen warrior as she drew closer. She shot Hawke a winning smile. She held the book out to the Arishok. “I’m sure you’ll find it’s mostly undamaged.”

I had to fight to keep my features neutral. I wanted nothing more than to yell at her, to ask her why she hadn’t returned the damned thing earlier. Many had died because of her selfishness. Ah, but a prince worthy of the title knows how to compose himself in trying circumstances. Recriminations could be made later when the city wasn’t at stake.

The giant of a man took the tome and held it, reverence plain upon his features. After a moment, he gave it to one of his underlings for safekeeping.

“It took me a while to get back, what with all the fighting everywhere. You know how it is,” the pirate said nonchalantly.

“Heroic acts of sacrifice? What _will_ people say?” Essendra replied with a smirk.

Maker’s breath. Were I in Hawke’s shoes, the last thing I’d be doing is cracking jokes with the person who brought all this misery upon us!

“This is _your _damned influence, Hawke. I was halfway to Ostwick before I knew I had to turn around. It’s pathetic.”

_Pathetic, yes. Pathetic that it took that long for your conscience to finally kick in,_ I fumed to myself.

“The relic is reclaimed. I am now free to return to Par Vollen – with the thief,” the Arishok rumbled.

“What?!”

“You thought you could strand them here for four years without consequence?” Fenris snapped. I said nothing but nodded in agreement with the elf.

“Oh no, no, NO. If _anyone _kicks her ass, it’s me!” Aveline growled.

Apparently, Hawke and Aveline both had gone slightly mad. Lovely.

“She stole the Tome of Koslun. She must return with us.”

Essendra narrowed her eyes. “Am I correct in assuming that you have something specific in mind for our dear Isabela?”

“She will submit to the Qun and the Ben-Hassrath. More than that you need not know.”

And there it was. I could see the flash of anger in those golden eyes. It was always… enchanting to behold. Maker forgive me, but I always got impure thoughts when I saw her fury rise.

“You have your relic. Isabela stays with us,” Hawke said. If she could shoot fire from her eyes, she probably would have at that moment.

“Then you leave me no choice. I challenge you, Hawke. You and I will battle to the death, with her as the prize.”

“No!” Isabela was quick to put herself between Hawke and the qunari leader. “If you’re going to duel anyone, duel me!”

“You are _not_ basalit-an. You are _unworthy_.”

Isabela looked offended at the giant’s pronouncement. I found myself sharing the sentiment. Isabela caused this mess. It should be Isabela fighting her own battles, not my Essen-- not Hawke. _Mine? Andraste preserve me, where had that come from? _

“You have what you came for. Take your relic and leave.” The hairs on the back of my neck stood up. I could feel the hint of static in the air. She favored storm magics whenever she found herself forced to fight. It would seem Essendra’s temper was dangerously close to reaching its breaking point.

“We do not suffer thieves. She cannot walk away from this insult. I will take her. If you object, duty demands that we fight.”

“Your death, your rules,” Hawke replied, sparks of energy dancing on her fingertips.

“Meravas! So shall it be!” the giant cried out.

My heart stopped. Time felt like it crawled by. I could feel Aveline pulling me off to the side, out of the impromptu battle arena. Fervid prayers echoed in my mind, woven between silent hopes of that damnably stubborn woman surviving. Bolts of lightning arced across the room, some flying harmlessly overhead, but many of them struck true, forcing the juggernaut to twitch in place until he could reclaim control over his faculties once more. He charged like a bull, moving much faster than one would assume his bulk would allow. More than a few times, he grazed or flat out ran her over, stunning her. My blood boiled as hers bled through the leather and linen of her attire.

A fist of stone came into being and flew from Hawke’s hands toward the Arishok’s head. A great crack was heard as he fell to the ground. He scrabbled up, one hand feeling frantically above his left brow, the other reaching for his sword. There was only a stub where his left horn formerly resided. The rest of the missing horn lay shattered in pieces on the throne room floor. The Qunari roared in fury and charged, weapon leveled. I heard the sickening sound of a blade piercing flesh.

“ESSENDRA!” Her name tore from my throat. The Arishok’s weapon was protruding from her gut and lower back. Blood from both fighters was collecting on the floor. Aveline grabbed me and pulled me back, preventing me from getting to Hawke. I struggled but was unable to break free of the guard captain’s grip.

The Arishok had a smug look on his face as he hefted the weapon skyward, Hawke still caught on it. And then I saw it. Hawke snarled and wrapped her hands around what she could of his throat. The man’s screams of agony rang out as she unleashed pulse after pulse of magically summoned lightning from her hands into his body. After what felt like a year passing, but was more than likely just a few breaths, the smoking husk of the Arishok hit the floor, making the victorious mage land awkwardly. I ran to her side.

“Everything hurts,” she whimpered between breaths. “I think I need help,” she sighed before losing consciousness.

That was an understatement. I tore off my cloak and did what I could to staunch the bleeding.

Aveline gave Fenris a shove. “Go. Get Anders. NOW!”

I looked around the sea of nobles, their faces etched with horror, shock, relief and anything in between. But what I didn’t see? _Who_ I didn’t see? _Isabela._I swallowed my anger and focused on keeping pressure on the wound. I’d be damned before letting Hawke bleed out before help could arrive. The pirate scum could wait her turn... if she ever found the stones to show her face again.


End file.
